


Deprivation 2: The Search

by Rhianne



Series: The Deprivation Series [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhianne/pseuds/Rhianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim tears the city apart searching for a missing Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deprivation 2: The Search

Deprivation 2: The Search

 

Coffee cooled slowly on the desk beside him, and Jim was faintly aware of the bitter aroma fading slowly into the air around him as he finally signed off the report. He could tell by the smell that the coffee was now too cold to drink, and Jim knew without having to check that he would only be able to see the steam rising from the cup if he really focused.

For a moment the temptation was to do just that, curious to see how long he could make out the soft white cloud as it emerged from the plastic rim, but he didn’t dare.

It had been a long day; one too many stakeouts earlier in the week and long hours of preparation for his approaching court appearance leaving him tired and weary, and uncomfortably aware that his control of his senses wasn’t as strong as normal.

It was no different, he supposed, from any other person running low on sleep, and he could still remember, back before his senses returned that his sight would sometimes become hazy, a slight headache settling between his eyes as a constant reminder that he needed to rest.

He still got the headaches, but now his senses changed the haziness into more of a blur, as light bounced off anything he could see, making his surroundings dip and sway in front of his eyes.

He reached for the next folder from the seemingly never ending pile on his desk and glanced longingly at the clock on the opposite wall.

8:45, and he still had far too much to do before he could escape and head home for the evening. It was his turn to cook as well, he suddenly realized with a sigh, and unless Blair wanted to take pity on him and throw something together then another trip to get takeout was on the cards.

Jim reached for the phone with one hand as he awkwardly opened the folder with the other, dialing the number from memory before trapping the receiver between his ear and shoulder, wincing at the pull from shoulder muscles that had been hunched in front of a computer for too long. The ringing drilled a steady beat through his headache, but he put up with it for a full thirty seconds before accepting that Sandburg wasn’t home, and that takeout would definitely be on the menu tonight.

With that he replaced the receiver and turned back to the files, mentally cursing the court case that had put him so far behind. Not that he was the only one. Work had been hectic for weeks, with long hours for the whole department, and Simon, Rafe and Joel were all busy fighting paperwork mountains of their own.

Absently rubbing his eyes and wishing for a Tylenol or four, Jim started trying to decipher his notes.

 

~*~*~

 

The sound of the phone ringing startled more than one person within Major Crimes, Jim included. As he dropped his pen with a sign and reached for the receiver, Jim was shocked to see that over an hour had passed. Not that the stack of paperwork in his in-tray had gone down very much.

“Ellison,” he snapped, wondering wearily if Simon would let him leave the rest of the files till the morning.

“Where’s your partner, detective?”

The question was unexpected, wrong somehow, and Jim frowned as he straightened up in his chair. “What?”

“Where’s your partner?” the voice repeated, wry amusement coloring the words and Jim immediately banged once on his desk, mouthing at Rafe to trace the call as he automatically extended his hearing down the phone line, ignoring the quiet clicks of hiss and static that he could always here through the phone.

“What about him?” he asked warily, horribly aware of the unanswered phone call to the loft he’d made earlier in the evening. A call that suddenly seemed much more sinister than his assumption that Sandburg had simply been held up at Rainier.

“I have a proposition for you. We will return Mr. Sandburg, unharmed, once Piettro Vincenzi has been tried and found not guilty. You can arrange that, can’t you? Otherwise, I can’t guarantee his safe return.”

Jim’s blood ran cold. The Vincenzi family were ruthless, and enough of a threat even from prison that the trial witnesses were all under strict police protection, even though the trial wasn’t due to start for another week.

“How do I know you even have him?” he snapped. “For all I know Blair could be out with his girlfriend.” He glanced over at Rafe, who gestured for Jim to keep the conversation going as he nervously called Simon’s name.

“He doesn’t have one, since that charming blond moved onto another man,” the voice replied, and Jim’s heart sank as he realized that someone had been watching them. How could he not have noticed?

“Let me give you a head start in your search, Detective Ellison. Mr. Sandburg’s Corvair is in a ditch in the North Shaw Road, unless joyriders have already taken it, though I doubt it since you’ll need a tow truck to get it out. Your proof is on the front seat. Once you’re satisfied, I’ll call back with further instructions.”

With that the line went dead, and Jim slammed the phone down with a curse as Simon emerged from his office.

“Sorry Jim,” Rafe sighed as he replaced his own receiver. “They weren’t on the phone long enough to get a fix on their location.”

“What’s going on?” Simon asked.

“Something’s happened to Sandburg,” Rafe replied as Jim started dialing again. Within minutes he’d tried Sandburg’s mobile, office and the loft. 

“There’s no answer anywhere,” he announced. “Damn it, we should have known they’d try something like this.”

“Something like what, Jim? What’s going on?” Simon repeated, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice.

“It’s Vincenzi,” Jam spat angrily, moving out from behind his desk and reaching for his jacket. “They want us to throw the trial or they’ll kill Sandburg.”

Simon went still, closing his eyes briefly as he cursed. “Any chance they’re just bluffing?”

“I doubt it. It wouldn’t take us long to figure it out if they were, they have to know that. They said I’d find proof in Sandburg’s car, out on the North Shaw Road.”

With that Jim walked out of the bullpen, Simon and Rafe following close behind.

Refusing to wait for the elevator, Jim headed towards the back stairs, only stopping when he saw Joel Taggert appearing round the corner, a coffee mug in his hand that told Jim the Captain was on his way back from the break room. Joel smiled in greeting, but the smile faded quickly when he took in the look on Jim’s face, and Simon and Rafe flanking him almost protectively from either side.

His back straightened instinctively in response, and Joel walked quickly over to them, frowning. “What’s happened?” he asked bluntly, eyes darting between the three somber-looking men in search of an answer.

“Trouble,” Jim replied equally bluntly and made to walk away, his entire focus on getting to the Corvair, but then a thought occurred to him and instead of leaving he reached out to grab Taggert’s arm. “I need a favor,” he began. “Get on the phone to Rainier. Find out who the last person was to see Sandburg. I know he had classes till six, I want to know if he made it to class, and where he went afterwards, or if anyone saw anything strange today.”

“There won’t be anyone there this time of night, Jim,” Joel protested. “What’s going on? Where’s Blair?”

“He’s been kidnapped, I don’t care who you have to haul out of bed.”

Joel paled at the news. “You got it, Jim,” he nodded solemnly, “whatever you need.” With that he walked quickly away, and Jim resumed his single-minded dash to the parking garage.

They took two separate cars, Jim in his truck with Rafe and Simon following, all three men aware that this could all be a set-up to get Jim away from the PD. At least if they were in different cars he would still have some semblance of backup if he were ambushed.

In fact, Jim hoped that was exactly what they were doing, and that Blair was blissfully unaware that there was anything wrong. It was perfectly possible as well, there were dozens of reasons why Blair might not be answering his cell phone that didn’t involve a kidnapping. The Vincenzi’s had vowed revenge on Ellison for his role in bringing down the family’s pornography business, and Jim was only too well aware that several members of the family would love to get their hands on him for a little payback.

Deep down, Jim knew that was extremely unlikely. For all their sins, the Vincenzi’s weren’t stupid. Beating or even killing him wouldn’t get Piettro out of jail, however much satisfaction his sons might get out of seeing Ellison on his knees.

Even if they killed him before the trial began, Jim’s testimony had been recorded a dozen different ways, and could still be admissible in court even if Jim himself was dead. No, the only way to get Vincenzi released was through the double jeopardy rule. Let the trial go ahead, but make sure that the prosecution collapsed and Vincenzi was found not guilty, meaning that he could never be re-arrested on the same charges.

Jim bristled at the thought of a bastard like Piettro Vincenzi being allowed back on the streets, but he also knew that if he did what they were demanding, that was exactly what would happen. If the Vincenzi’s did have Sandburg, and Jim was almost one hundred per cent certain that they did, Jim knew he would be impeach himself under oath if it was the only way to get Blair back. He would have to go against orders, there was no way that the DA’s office would agree to drop the charges, and destroying the trial would certainly end his police career, but he knew he’d do it, if he had to.

Of course, agreeing to their demands meant leaving Sandburg in their hands for well over a week before the trial even started, and Jim knew there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t kill Sandburg whatever the outcome of the trial.

That simply wasn’t an option.

Jim glanced in the rear view mirror then, realizing that Simon had lost sight of him as Jim’s anger had caused him to put his foot down on the gas pedal.

He slowed down, pulling over and forcing himself to calm down, consciously having to choke down his fury, knowing it would do nothing to get Sandburg back in one piece.

He ignored the small voice in his head that took great delight in pointing out it could already be too late for that.

When Simon’s car roared into view, Jim pulled smoothly back into the traffic, keeping his raging emotions in check on the rest of the mercifully short drive.

They reached the North Shore Road without incident, even though Jim was disappointed that it hadn’t turned out to be an elaborate hoax designed to lure him out into the open.

Then Jim saw the Corvair, and all rational thought fled as he slammed on the breaks, the pickup screeching to a halt, before leaping out and racing to the abandoned car.

The Corvair had been there for a while, that was obvious from the damp condensation that covered the car now that night had fallen. The hood was cold – no-one had moved it recently.

As Simon and Rafe arrived, Jim turned his attention to the interior of the car. The Corvair was only half on the road, its front wheels a few feet below road level where the car had apparently crashed off the road.

“Damn,” Simon muttered as he and Rafe joined Jim at the car.

There was no way this was a hoax.

Together the three men walked round to the driver’s side where the front window was smashed, tiny fragments of glass all over the tarmac glistening in the light from Jim’s car.

“I’ll get a forensic team out here,” Simon said sadly, pulling out his cell and moving away. Rafe gestured to the back of the Corvair. It was badly dented, one taillight completely shattered and the license plate hanging off where the rear corner of the car had been caved in.

“They must have run him off the road,” Rafe said, and Jim nodded, peering in through the shattered window.

What he saw made him curse and he pulled the driver’s door open, careful to use his sleeve to disturb any evidence as little as possible. There were more glass shards all over the driver’s seat, and Jim was painfully aware that Blair had probably been in the car when the window was smashed. All he could do was hope that he hadn’t been badly hurt by the shower of glass. Then he caught sight of the streak of blood that was splashed across the steering wheel, and his hopes were immediately dashed.

“Simon,” he called, and Simon came over, finishing up his phone call and crouching down by the open door. He sighed when he saw the bloodstain. “We’ll find him, Jim,” he said gently, and Jim’s anger boiled over for a moment as he whirled round to face his captain.

“You don’t know that!” he shouted. “He could already be dead – they don’t need a live hostage to force us to do what they want.”

“Jim,” Simon warned. “I know there are no guarantees, but it makes sense for them to keep him alive. As long as they’ve got him to use as a bargaining chip they can keep us on a leash. But if they can’t prove to us he’s still alive, they risk losing their leverage.”

“Captain?” Rafe’s quiet voice cut in, stopping any response Jim was going to make, and something in the way he spoke made Jim’s blood run cold as he turned to the detective.

Rafe was staring into the back of the car, and when Jim followed his gaze he saw a small brown envelope on the back seat, secured to the fabric by a long, vicious-looking glass shard.

Jim reached in and pulled the glass free, taking in the blood on the edges of the glass without a word. He exchanged a bleak glance with Rafe before placing the glass carefully in the roof of the car and reaching in again for the envelope. 

Both Rafe and Simon were silent, but exchanging glances that told Jim they knew exactly what was going to be in the envelope, just as he did.

He took a deep breath as he grabbed the envelope, noting as he straightened that his hand was shaking. Jim’s sense of dread continued to grow as he opened the envelope, pulling out the contents – a single, Polaroid photograph.

For a moment he stared at the picture in silence, his whole body still as a statue as his mind struggled to classify what he was seeing.

The photograph itself was grainy, but the sole figure in the picture was unmistakably Sandburg, the layers of flannel giving him away almost as fast as his trademark brown curls.

Sandburg was lying on his side, bound hand and foot. His hair was loose, but he’d been blindfolded and gagged, keeping his hair back out of his face but stopping Jim from seeing whether or not Blair had been conscious – or even alive – when they took the photo.

However bad the picture quality was, Jim could still plainly see the shock of blood across Blair’s forehead, disappearing out of sight behind the blindfold. Jim stared at the photo in furious horror, staring at his missing friend for so long that Simon eventually stepped over to him.

“Jim?” he asked softly.

But Jim ignored him, unable to tear his gaze away from the picture in his shaking hands.

“Ellison,” Simon tried again, gently easing the photograph out of Jim’s hand and turning it so that he and Rafe could see what had shocked Jim so badly, careful to hold the photograph by its edges so he didn’t disturb any evidence. Jim’s gaze followed the picture, still able to make out the outline of Sandburg’s body even with the photo facing away from him.

“Oh no,” Rafe muttered quietly, eyes widening as he glanced nervously up at Jim’s still unmoving figure.

Simon sighed deeply before turning to Rafe. “Go see what’s taking forensics so long, okay?” he asked quietly, blatantly ignoring the confused look that Rafe threw him. All three men knew that it would take at least another thirty minutes for backup to arrive, even if they used the sirens and broke the speed limits. One glance at Jim, though, and the detective choked back whatever he had been about to say, nodding once and moving pointedly out of hearing distance before pulling out his cell phone. Simon turned his full attention back to Jim.

“Jim? Jim, can you hear me?”

There was another moment of silence before Jim finally managed a shaky sigh. “I haven’t zoned, Simon,” he said, shocked at how weary he sounded. “I just…” he trailed off, then, no idea what he was trying to say, or even sure that he could put it into words if he did know.

Simon looked at the picture in his hands, shuddering once before tucking it away into an evidence bag he’d pulled from his pocket. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be a print on this,” he commented. 

Jim didn’t reply, his jaw set with an impotent anger.

“We’ll get him back, Jim,” Simon promised, but Jim had been a cop long enough to know just how bad the odds were for kidnap victims, and found no comfort in the words. He was about to say something to that effect when his cell phone rang, startling them both as the noise rang out in the silence of the wood surrounding them.

“Ellison,” he answered the call.

“Are you satisfied with your proof, detective?”

The hated voice was unexpected, and it took Jim a moment to respond. When he did, all his emotions boiled over and he gripped the phone furiously.

“You bastard!” he growled out. “If you’ve hurt him…”

The voice interrupted him, dryly cutting off Jim’s threat. “A little late for that, Ellison. Mr. Sandburg didn’t take kindly to being dragged from his car.”

Simon was watching Jim in alarm as the muscle in his jaw twitched dangerously. Jim knew he was displaying all the signs that he was about to explode with anger, and he had to fight to keep some semblance of control before he could say anything that would anger the people who held Sandburg’s life in their hands.

In the end he subsided back against the car, rubbing a hand across his forehead in defeat.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“That’s better,” the voice said smugly, and now that he was marginally calmer, Jim could hear the gravelly edge that told him the man had smoked more than a few cigarettes.

“It’s quite simple,” he continued, and Jim winced slightly as the words echoed in his head, blurring together chaotically. Fearing a zone out, he dug the fingernails of his free hand into his palm, using the sharp pain to keep himself grounded, sharpening his other senses, but when the voice began again, the strange echoing effect was still there. “The Vincenzi trial begins next Monday. Mr Sandburg will stay with us until the trial begins, and once Mr Vincenzi is found not guilty, we will return your partner to you.”

As whoever it was on the end of the phone spoke, Jim slowly realized that the echo wasn’t being caused by his senses spiking. Instead, he was hearing the words in stereo – once down the phone line, and once as his hearing picked up the same words coming from somewhere behind him. He swung round, staring across the top of Blair’s car and out into the woods that ran along the side of the road. There were no streetlights here, and the beams from Simon’s car did little to light up more than the immediate area around the Corvair, but sentinel senses went some way towards compensating for the shadows.

“I want to talk to him,” Jim demanded in an attempt to keep the conversation going, needing to hear the echo from that hated voice in order to try and track it back to the source.

“Stop playing games with me, detective,” he snapped, and Jim piggybacked one sense onto another, using his eyes to track the sound through the woods. “You’ve had your proof. Keep provoking me and I’ll send you something more permanent. Perhaps a finger; I’m sure your coroners can confirm whether or not it was removed while he was still alive. Of course, I can’t guarantee he won’t then die of blood loss, or perhaps shock…”

At first he could make out nothing but the closely-packed tree trunks that merged together into a barrier of shadows he couldn’t seem to penetrate, but Jim forced himself to concentrate, dialing up his sight as much as he could and then suddenly he was through the barrier, and there it was.

A car, engine switched off, with only the interior lights giving away its presence. There were two men, neither of whom Jim recognized, one that he could barely see sitting in the driver’s seat, hand resting on the keys in preparation for a quick getaway. The other was standing by the car, staring straight at Jim and using binoculars to see through the trees that separated them, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear.

“…don’t bother tracing this call, we’ve taken steps to make sure you’ll never find us…”

Realizing that this pair had probably been waiting for them to show up since making the call to the bullpen in the first place, Jim gently motioned Simon back behind the car, taking what little protection it offered just in case they decided to open fire.

Simon moved silently, throwing a confused look at Jim as he did so, but Jim ignored him, turning back to face the other car and praying that he could make out the license plate, the make and model, or something that would help them find Sandburg.

“Here’s the deal, Ellison. There’ll be no more phone calls, no meetings in public places where you can try and get the drop on us. You just concentrate on getting the trial thrown out. Denounce your testimony, lie on the stand, I don’t care what you do, just make sure Piettro walks free.”

The light was bad, but it was enough, and Jim gestured to Simon for a pen as his eyes managed to make out the license plate. He scribbled the letters and numbers down on the back of his hand before turning his full attention back to the man who was still watching him through binoculars, keeping his fingers crossed that the man didn’t realize what Jim was writing down, and that he knew they were there.

“…once Piettro has been cleared of all charges, we’ll return Mr. Sandburg to you.”

“How do I know you’ll send him back alive?” Jim asked, trying to keep him on the line long enough for backup to arrive.

“You don’t,” the voice replied smugly, and with that the line went dead.

Jim snapped his own phone shut with a curse as he watched the man toss the binoculars back into the car. Jim caught a brief glimpse of his face before he got back into the car himself, and seconds later it roared away.

“Rafe!” Jim snapped. “How far away is the forensics team?”

“Just a couple of minutes, Jim,” Rafe replied, walking back over to join him. “What’s going on?”

“They were watching us, Simon,” Jim snapped. “They’ve just driven off down the road parallel to this one. Put an APB out on a green car, model unknown, license plate number 5-Yankee-Charlie-Hotel-429.” Jim didn’t bother trying to follow the car itself, as much as he wanted to. There was no direct route between the North Shaw Road and Higher Drive, the road that the kidnapper’s car had been parked on, and by the time they’d driven to the main road and doubled back the car would be long gone. There was a chance, though, albeit slim, that one of the backup cars could still cut them off. “Make sure they know not to pull the car over, just follow it,” he added suddenly as Simon relayed the plate over the radio. They might lead us to Sandburg.”

That done, Jim turned back to the Corvair and forced himself to concentrate. If they could get a line on the car then there was a chance, if their luck held, that this would all be over quickly. Jim was under no illusions that the Vincenzi’s would keep to their word and return Sandburg alive if Jim retracted his testimony. They were just as likely to send him back dead or not at all, and then Vincenzi would be back on the streets for nothing.

Forensics arrived only minutes later, and Jim stepped back to let them work, keeping out of the way as they set up lights and dusted the car for fingerprints. Jim was able to pick out a partial tire tread and a few footprints on the tarmac around the car, but mainly he just stood with Simon, watching his colleagues work and praying that they would find Sandburg before it was too late.

Then Rafe re-appeared, rushing over from Simon’s car and attracting the attention of everyone within a hundred yards.

“Captain, they’ve found the car,” he shouted breathlessly. “One of the patrol units sighted it heading into the industrial district on 32nd street.”

Rafe had barely finished his sentence before Jim was off and running to his car, pulling out his keys as he moved. “Make sure they keep back for god’s sake!” he yelled back to Rafe. “If they realize they’re being followed it could spook them into killing Sandburg!”

Jim reached his car and threw open the door, barely aware of Simon scrambling into the passenger seat, also shouting back to Rafe and putting him in charge of both crime scenes. Simon barely made it into the seat before Jim had started the car and peeled away in a squeal of tires and burning rubber.

Simon kept up a constant commentary with the patrol officers who had responded to the APB, one hand on his radio and one on the car door as Jim hit the siren and speeded through the streets, intent on getting to the industrial district as quickly as possible. This could be the only chance they had to find out where they were keeping Blair before the Vincenzi’s had time to do anything permanent to his partner. He didn’t trust the patrol car not to foul this up, and it was Sandburg’s life on the line if they did.

But Jim and Simon never caught up with the kidnapper’s car. Simon had been relaying directions to Jim as he drove, but then the radio went worryingly quiet, and they found themselves at a busy intersection with no word from the squad car on which way they should be going.

“Simon?” Jim prompted urgently as the captain listened to the silent radio. “Which way?”

“I don’t know, Jim,” Simon replied, and Jim tapped the steering wheel impatiently as Simon tried to raise the squad car on the radio. A tense silence followed, until finally a sheepish voice came over the line.

“I’m sorry Captain Banks, I think we’ve lost them.”

Jim exploded, reaching over and snatching the handset out of his Captain’s hands. “What do you mean you think you’ve lost them?” he demanded furiously. “How can you have lost them?”

If anything, the voice that came over the radio in response was even more hesitant. “Detective Ellison, I’m sorry. We got caught out at a set of lights. We couldn’t run the siren without letting them know we were there.”

Jim didn’t bother replying, tossing the handset back at Simon in disgust before slamming his hand into the steering wheel. “Damn it,” he cursed as Simon signed off the radio and replaced the handset.

“If we go to their last known location, could you track them from there?” he asked quietly.

Jim shook his head. “If I was following a sound then there’d be a slim chance I could still pick up the trail, but they’ll be long gone by now. There’s nothing to track.”

“We’d better go back to the precinct,” Simon said. “Forensics should have finished at the crime scenes by now – they might have something.”

Jim headed back into the traffic, turning the truck round and driving towards the center of the city. Both men rode in silence, the air around them heavy with the helplessness and worry they both felt.

Eventually, it was Simon who broke the silence. “We’ll find him, Jim,” he said quietly, but the words rang hollow in Jim’s ears, and he glanced over at Simon in despair, unable to maintain the air of calm detachment he always tried to maintain in difficult cases.

“How?” he asked simply, watching as Simon stared back for a moment before turning mutely away to stare out the window, lips pressed together tightly. Both men had worked too many kidnapping cases in their careers for glib platitudes to hold any comfort at all.

 

~*~*~

 

Simon had called ahead; making arrangements so that by the time he and Jim walked back through the doors to the bullpen, every on-duty member of Major Crimes had assembled, anxiously awaiting their return. Henri Brown was also there, and Simon frowned when he saw the detective sitting at his desk. 

“Aren’t you meant to be off-duty?” he asked suspiciously, but Brown calmly straightened his shoulders and met Banks’ gaze. “Rafe called me,” he explained, his expression daring the captain to say anything more.

Simon smiled slightly at him before moving on, and Jim settled restlessly on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest like a shield holding himself together.

Their arrival acted like a magnet, and within minutes everyone had gravitated towards Jim, surrounding him in an almost protective circle. For a moment Jim felt his spirit lift at the obvious show of support, and the fact that several of his colleagues wordlessly clapped a hand on his shoulder as they passed him brought a weary but grateful smile to his face.

It was good to know that his friends would rally round in a crisis, and Jim knew the fact that in the last two years Blair had all but made himself indispensable to the bullpen, always ready with a helping hand or a smile when needed was largely responsible for this display of solidarity. 

Sandburg might not be a cop, but he was one of them all the same, and Major Crimes as a team would move heaven and earth to get him back. The Vincenzi’s had made a big mistake in kidnapping Sandburg, and for the first time Jim began to think that maybe there was still a chance. If it was humanly possible, this was the group of people who could help get him back.

And yet, in spite of the deliberate display of solidarity, Jim could clearly sense the tension in the room. Heart rates were raised all around him, and there was none of the quiet laughter and light-hearted conversation that usually echoed round the bullpen when a crowd had gathered.

Simon finished his conversation with Rhonda and banged on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, people,” he called, and as one they all turned to him, the room going instantly quiet in a move that would have made even Jim’s strictest army instructor proud. “Sandburg’s been kidnapped by the Vincenzi family.”

A low murmur of angry, worried voices began at the news of the Vincenzi’s involvement. There were no exclamations of shock at the fact that Sandburg had been kidnapped, but Jim hadn’t expected any – half the precinct had to have heard what had happened by now. Worry was plain on all their faces; the Vincenzi case had been high-profile, and no-one who’d heard of them was under any illusion about just how dangerous they were.

Nevertheless, Jim could see a few faces that seemed more confused than angry, and realized then that not everyone knew all the details of the case. He spoke up, cutting in before Simon could continue. “The Vincenzi’s ran a pornography ring that was operating in Cascade up until about six months ago,” he explained, and the group turned to him. “Vice had been trying to get close to them for months, but these guys were smart and knew all the Vice cops by sight. Before I joined Major Crimes I did a few years in Vice, and they asked me to go undercover to get the proof they needed. We closed them down and managed to put most of the main gang away. The trial starts next week, and they’ve grabbed Sandburg to force me to change my testimony on the stand.”

It was a very brief summary of what had, in fact, been a complicated and difficult six-week operation, but it covered the basics and Jim had no desire to start reliving just what he’d had to go through to get the evidence they needed to put these bastards behind bars.

Simon took over when Jim stopped speaking, getting back to more immediate concerns. “We got the call at 10:45,” he began, taking a file from Rhonda and rifling through it. “It looks like Sandburg was forced from his car on the North Shaw Road, and we’ve got forensics going over it at the moment.” He pulled out several photographs that Jim could see were copies of the picture he’d found on the back seat of the Corvair, and began handing them round to the assembled group. “Whoever it was left this in Sandburg’s car. They said they’d let him go once Ellison retracts his testimony and Piettro Vincenzi is released.” 

The photographs made their way quickly round the assembled group, and Jim could clearly hear the sharp intakes of breath and gasps as people realized what they were looking at.

“Son of a bitch,” murmured Joel, and Jim glanced over at his friend in time to see Joel’s fingers tighten angrily on the picture in his hand. Joel looked up and met Jim’s gaze, concern and sympathy plain on his face, and Jim managed a brief smile in return.

“There was a car watching us when we found the Corvair,” Simon continued. “We put out an APB but the patrol unit lost it somewhere near the industrial district. There’s a chance that it’ll be sighted again, but they may well ditch it once they’re finished. Joel, what did you find out at Rainier?”

“No-one’s seen Blair since just after seven. According to the head of the anthropology department, Dr Sidney Oldham, Blair finished teaching his last class at six, and then went back to his office. Dr Oldham went in to speak to him at about seven and stayed for about half an hour. Then Sandburg left, saying he was taking some papers home to grade and that’s the last anyone saw of him.”

“The North Shaw Road is on the way between Rainier and the loft,” Jim added. “They must have ambushed him there.”

“Maybe,” Joel replied. “No-one I’ve spoken to remembers seeing anything out of the ordinary all day, but I can’t exactly canvas all his students at this time of night, it could take all night just to track some of them down. Apparently Blair has a seminar with the group he lectured first thing tomorrow morning – I’ll speak to them then, see if anyone knows anything.”

Jim fought back his initial reaction at the thought of Sandburg being in the hands of these bastards long enough for it to even reach morning. He said nothing, but the sigh that he couldn’t keep back was loud enough to attract the attention of several people standing nearby, who glanced his way uneasily.

“What about the crash site?” Brown asked. “Is there any chance that they snatched him from somewhere else and moved the car there themselves?”

“I doubt it,” Rafe replied. “From the state of the car I doubt it was even roadworthy after they rammed it. Besides, the North Shaw Road is nice and secluded – no streetlights or houses overlooking it, it’s the ideal place for an ambush.”

“Can we work anything out from where the car was going when we lost it?” asked Joel. “Maybe we can work out whereabouts in the city it was headed, narrow down the search area a bit.”

“We can’t be sure they were even headed where they’re keeping Sandburg,” Simon objected.

“It’s worth a try,” Jim cut in then, well aware he was clutching at straws, but it was better than just sitting here doing nothing.

“I’ll get on it,” Joel said, the sudden light in his eyes telling Jim that the former bomb squad Captain was just as frustrated at not being able to do anything as he was.

“The names of the patrolmen were Edwards and Robson,” Simon said. “They can help you plot a trail.”

Nodding, Joel left the room quickly, after a final, hope-filled glance at Jim.

“Rafe, Brown, I want you to get the files on the Vincenzi case from Vice. Whoever’s behind this must have connections with the Vincenzi’s, it’s possible they were featured in the initial investigation and just weren’t arrested. Go through them, see if there’s anything we can use.”

“Yes, Captain,” Rafe replied, and both men also hurried out of the bullpen.

Now Jim and Simon were left alone, and Simon moved over to where Jim was perched on his desk. Almost without thought Jim reached over to the photo that Joel had placed on the desk before leaving the room and picked it up, staring down at the prone figure of his partner. 

Without the physical support of his friends and colleagues to help, Jim somehow couldn’t stop his fears from re-surfacing.

He examined the picture carefully, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to Sandburg’s location, but the photo was a close up, showing little of his surroundings. Not to mention the bad quality, it looked like there was dust all over the camera lens or something. Then he looked again, and Jim realized suddenly that the grain wasn’t all over the picture. In fact, it was a perfectly clear image of Blair, and only the floor or whatever he was lying on that looked grainy.

“What do you think that is, Simon?” Jim asked, pointing to the floor.

Simon looked over his shoulder at the photograph, squinting for a moment before shaking his head. “I can’t make out much of anything, but you know your eyes are better than mine, Jim.”

Jim moved the photograph closer, trying to focus in on the picture but he simply got lost as the picture shattered into a million pixels. The quality simply wasn’t good enough to make out what it was. “Maybe Forensics can enhance it,” he sighed, though he was sceptical. With all due respect to the skills of their forensics team, Jim knew his eyesight was as good as the computer equipment that they had available. With a heavy heart, Jim couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the image of his partner.

“There’s too much blood, Simon,” Jim muttered quietly, sentinel eyesight tracking the streaks running across Sandburg’s face.

Simon gently took the photograph from Jim’s hands. “It’s a head wound, Jim,” he said softly. “They bleed a lot, you know that, but he’s had them before and come through with nothing more serious than a headache. I’m sure he’s holding up alright.”

“And how often is he going to have to go through this?” Jim asked with a weary sigh. “Just because we’ve always pulled him out in the past it doesn’t mean this’ll be the same. Jesus Simon, since hooking up with me he’s been beaten, shot, kidnapped, drugged…sooner or later our luck is going to run out, and what happens then?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then, and Simon laid a hand on Jim’s arm in a mute, awkward show of support. “I know you’re worried about him,” he said finally. “We all are. But you’ve got to hold it together. Blair’s resourceful; he’ll do everything he can to stay in one piece until we can find him.”

Jim snatched back the photo from Simon’s hands. “Look at him!” he snapped angrily, gesturing to the bound figure of his friend. “I don’t think he’s in any fit state to do anything!”

“Stop it, Jim!” Simon shouted back. “He was in the same situation with Lash, remember, and he kept himself alive long enough for you to find him. He’s a good kid, he’ll be alright, but he needs you to keep focused and thinking clearly, not falling apart with worry!”

Simon’s words acted like a bucket of cold water, and Jim put the photo down and rubbed both hands over his face, taking a precious moment to pull himself together. Unlike Simon, Jim knew exactly how vicious the Vincenzi’s could be, and had witnessed their callous, almost gleeful violence at close quarters, and the idea of Blair as a captive in their hands made him feel physically sick, but nevertheless Simon was right, he was no use to Blair if he fell apart now, even though he was so worried he could barely think straight.

“Sorry sir,” he said quietly, taking a deep breath before pulling himself to his feet. 

“Now, the others have the university and the old case covered. What else is there that we can do?”

Jim thought for a moment. “I caught a glimpse of the guy who called me before he drove off. I’m going to look through some mug shots, see if I can figure out who he is.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll call the D.A., find out exactly what day of the trial you’re supposed to testify. Maybe we can get your testimony moved back a couple of days, see if that’ll give us a bit more time.”

Jim moved round his desk and dropped into a chair, booting up his computer as Simon walked away. Just before Simon disappeared into his office, Jim glanced up from the screen. “Hey, Simon?”

The Captain turned round, one hand resting on the door to his office. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Jim said simply, and Simon grinned in return before walking away.

 

~*~*~

 

Hours later, Jim’s head was pounding from staring at the screen for so long, and he thought he was going to burst from all the coffee people kept bringing to him, but in spite of all that they were no closer to finding Blair.

He’d gone through hundreds of mug shots, searching lists of people convicted of kidnapping, pornography and anything else he could think of that was even tenuously linked to the business that the Vincenzi’s used to run, but he’d turned up nothing.

In desperation he’d widened his search to every photograph in the police database, only able to narrow it down by hair color and build, but it still left him far too many to look through. He knew it was a hopeless search, but the photograph lying casually on the desk next to him was a permanent, ominous reminder of just what was at stake if he failed, and he clutched at the slim chance like a lifeline.

The atmosphere in the bullpen was tense, an eerie silence settling over the room as people worked grimly. The silence was only broken by the quiet murmurs of phone calls and the constant, repetitive click of a mouse as Jim moved desperately from one mug shot to the next, his heart sinking each time he found himself staring at an unfamiliar face. 

His eyesight began to blur from staring for so long at the screen, and eventually he turned away from it in despair and exhaustion, closing his eyes and slumping forward to rest his head in his hands.

He stayed there for a while, letting the quiet sounds of the building drift past him. Jim knew just how unlikely it was that they’d be able to find Blair – everyone in the department knew it even if no-one was saying it – and yet it took every ounce of willpower that Jim possessed not to simply hit the streets and start hunting down every informant he’d ever known, or to kick the doors down of all the people he’d encountered while undercover with the Vincenzi’s.

Vice had only been interesting in bringing down the main people involved, and so a lot of smaller, peripheral players had been ignored to make sure that they got to the heart of the ring itself.

Some of them must know exactly what had happened to Blair, or at the very least know exactly who was behind this attempt to free Piettro Vincenzi from jail. Unfortunately, if he gave into temptation, news would certainly get back to Sandburg’s captors faster than Jim could track them, and it was the fear of what would happen then that kept Jim sitting in the bullpen instead of tearing up the streets of Cascade looking for his partner.

He had, however, put the word out to Sneaks and some of his trusted informants, and could only hope that something substantial came out of it.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he glanced up to find Serena by his side, watching him.

“Serena,” Jim said in greeting, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded, and he coughed once to clear his throat before continuing. “Have forensics found anything?”

The look on her face wasn’t encouraging. “There wasn’t much evidence in Blair’s car, I’m afraid. No fingerprints found at all, not even Blair’s – they must have wiped the car clean after they took him.” She hesitated, and Jim’s heart sank when he realized that worse news was coming. “I’m sorry Jim, but all the blood we found in the car was Blair’s type.”

Jim nodded grimly, unfortunately not surprised by the news. He already knew that Blair was hurt. All he could do was pray that it was only a superficial injury, and that now they had him, they left him alone.

 

~*~*~

 

When the phone rang it startled Jim out of his anxious thoughts, and his heart rate tripled as he reached for the receiver. Almost his entire being was focused on the phone, and the knowledge that it was, effectively, his only link to Sandburg, but the small part of him that was still aware of his surroundings noted the sudden silence in the bullpen, and the number of heads watching his phone as nervously as he himself was.

He answered the call hesitantly, steeling himself to hear the smug voice of the still unknown kidnapper.

“Ellison,” he ground out, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for the response.

“Detective Ellison?” the voice was higher, more nasal in quality than the kidnapper’s, and instantly recognizable.

“Sneaks!” Jim collapsed back into his seat, relief warring with disappointment as he tried to calm his pounding heart. Another phone call from the kidnappers when they’d said they were waiting for the trial could only have meant trouble for Sandburg, but God, Jim would have given just about anything to have heard Blair’s voice, to know for certain he was still alive. “What do you want?” he snapped, raging emotions making his tone harsher than he’d intended.

“Well that’s a nice way to greet someone who’s only ringing to help you out,” Sneaks replied wryly, chuckling as Jim tried to apologize, the implication of Sneaks’ words suddenly dawning on him. “Forget about it, Ellison,” he interrupted. “I know you’ve got your own problems. That’s why I’m calling.”

Jim straightened instantly, leaning forward in his chair, his grip tight on the phone in his hand. “You know something.” It was a statement rather than a question, and hope flared as he waited for a response.

“Don’t get too excited, I don’t know if this’ll help or not,” Sneaks cautioned, his words flippant, but the concern evident in the man’s voice curtailed Jim’s instinctive, angry response. “Word’s all over the street about your partner, but no-one’s admitting to knowing anything. But you asked me to find out what I could about the Vincenzi’s, and I’ve just heard something that might interest you.”

There was a pause, then, and Jim narrowed his eyes in frustration. “I’m listening,” he prompted.

“What do I get out of this?” Sneaks asked nervously after a moment.

“You help me find Sandburg,” Jim replied wearily, “and I’ll take you shoe shopping myself.”

Sneaks’ laughter echoed down the phone. “No offense, Ellison, but you’d kind of cramp my style.” Jim couldn’t stop a slight grin from appearing on his face, before sobering up and bringing Sneaks back to the point.

“What have you heard?”

“Like I said it might be nothing, but have you ever heard of Kathy Mason?”

The name instantly conjured up an image of brown eyes, long, thin legs and a mane of glossy red hair, but unfortunately the woman behind the image was nothing like as stunning as those attributes had suggested when Jim first set eyes on her.

Working in one of the supposedly legitimate clubs that the Vincenzi family had run, Kathy had been introduced to him as a waitress, though it was later discreetly pointed out that she was perfectly willing to perform…other…services for ‘special friends’ of the Vincenzi’s, which at the time Jim had the misfortune of being.

The track marks on her arms that sentinel eyesight had spotted in spite of the darkness of the club had told Jim exactly why she was so willing.

He’d only met her a few times and they’d never really spoken, but the sadness he’d seen in her eyes had struck a chord with the detective, the same hopelessness he’d seen in so many faces while moving in the Vincenzi’s world.

“Yeah, I know of her. What’s she got to do with any of this?”

“I bet you never ran a background check on her, did you?”

“No,” Jim replied impatiently. She’d never seemed particularly close to the Vincenzi’s, just another one of the girls unfortunate enough to work for them, and by the time they were introduced Jim had almost been ready to bring the entire organization down, and had wanted nothing more than to uncover the information he needed and get out.

“They keep this quiet, but a few years ago she was Michael Vincenzi’s wife.”

“What?” Jim blurted out in honest surprise.

“Yep,” Sneaks said smugly, obviously enjoying the chance to surprise the detective. “They even had a kid together.”

Jim frowned. He’d seen a kid running around the back rooms of the club once or twice; a small, skinny little thing with dirty blond hair and a permanently runny nose, but he’d never noticed the elder Vincenzi paying the kind of attention to him that you’d expect from a doting grandparent. Then again, this was Piettro Vincenzi he was thinking of – Jim would be surprised if he’d ever cared for anything other than the man he saw when he looked in the mirror and the money in his wallet.

“Eighteen months after the kid was born, Michael walked out on them both to shack up with this blonde he met at one of his dad’s ‘business meetings’. Suddenly she’s on her own with the kid, and can’t make the rent.”

“Let me guess,” Jim cut in dryly. “Vincenzi Senior offers her a job since she’s family, and gets her working at the club.”

“Exactly. She starts off as a waitress, and slowly finds out what the Vincenzi family really is, but by then it’s too late to get out.”

“So what does this have to do with Blair?” Jim asked impatiently, eyes on the clock above Rafe’s desk, uncomfortably aware of the second hand constantly moving as time continued to roll on.

“Relax, detective, I’m getting to that. Since you cops shut down that side of the business the club has been closed, but the remaining Vincenzi’s are still in business. I can’t find out exactly what they’re involved in – I’m not far enough up the ladder to get that kind of information, but whatever it is, Kathy goes with them to the deals and they hand her round to their friends like some kind of party favor.”

“And?” Jim winced inwardly at how callous he sounded, but right now Sandburg was his one and only concern, and as sad as Sneaks’ story was, so far it wasn’t helping them find out where Blair was being held.

“They had some kind of deal due to go down tomorrow night. I don’t know what, but it was due to make them a hell of a lot of cash. The rumor was, it might even have been enough to let them restart the business somewhere else. Kathy was supposed to provide the entertainment, shall we say, but word on the street is that she’s disappeared – Paulo Vincenzi is livid.”

“What’s that got to do with Blair?”

“Well, maybe nothing, but this deal is no different to a dozen others she’s been involved in, and she’s never run out on them before. It seems a bit of a coincidence that she disappears the same day that her employers snatch your partner.”

Jim nodded thoughtfully. It was a long shot – Jim couldn’t imagine that someone the Vincenzi’s were using as a prostitute would be allowed close enough to find out about their other businesses, but then who knew what she overheard at these deals? In some, twisted way, she was still their family. Something must have spooked her if she’d dropped out of sight like this. 

“I’ll check it out. Thanks, Sneaks,” he added, and could hear the smile in his informant’s reply.

“No problem. I hope you find your partner. He has good taste in shoes – I’d go shopping with him,” Sneaks added thoughtfully, and Jim grinned in spite of himself as he hung up and turned back to the computer, typing in Kathy Mason’s name.

Within minutes he had her police record displayed on the screen, and was staring at a younger version of the woman he’d met at the club all those months ago.

The photo was from her one and only conviction, a minor charge for possession of heroine dated a couple of years before she met Michael Vincenzi. She’d looked healthier then – younger, but sentinel eyes could already detect the beginnings of the haggard, hard edge to her face that had only worsened since the picture was taken.

Turning away from the photograph, Jim read through the information in the file, but it was woefully thin. All the basic information, such as name and date of birth was there, but Kathy Mason hadn’t had any dealings with the police since her drug conviction in 1994. 

There wasn’t even a current address for them to check out, since she hadn’t gone to prison and had only had to report her actions to a parole officer for six months. The last contact details on file were years out of date, and even though Jim knew she’d disappeared, an up-to-date address would at least have given him somewhere to start.

He looked back over the screen again, but a second read-through didn’t provide the inspiration he was looking for.

“Jim?” Joel walked over to Jim’s desk, hope plain on his face. “Who was the call from?”

“One of my informants had some news about the Vincenzi’s,” Jim replied distractedly, eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him. Slowly he began to shake his head. There was nothing here to help them. Tracking down Kathy Mason could take weeks, time he couldn’t afford to waste if it meant leaving Blair in their hands, especially when he couldn’t even be certain that this woman really knew anything. He sighed despondently. “There’s nothing here,” he muttered, and even though his eyes hadn’t left the screen, in his peripheral vision he could see Joel’s shoulders drop with disappointment.

“We’ve been trying to track the car you saw,” Joel said. “CCTV cameras have managed to track the car into the outskirts of the city, but so many of the cameras have been smashed or are faulty that all we’ve been able to do is narrow down the search area a little more. There are still miles of possible locations, and we don’t even know for sure that they went back to where they’re holding Blair.”

Jim nodded, turning away from the helpless frustration he could see in Joel’s eyes that they couldn’t do more. Idly he ran the mouse over the screen, returning to the information on Kathy Mason’s previous arrest and reading it for a third time. She’d been caught in a drug raid by the Narcotics unit, who had raided a club down by the water front. A number of arrests for possession had been made that night, including arresting the man who had turned out to be both Kathy’s dealer and her brother, James Mason. 

The report contained a link to his file, and Jim clicked the link without really thinking. There was a slight delay before the second set of records appeared on the screen, and then Jim found himself staring at the computer in shock.

His surprise showed in the sudden stiffening of Jim’s muscles as he leaned slightly towards the screen, and Joel recognized the shift in Jim’s emotions.

“What is it?”

Jim looked at the mug shot of James Mason, and found himself staring at the man he’d seen in the car before it drove off, the same man who’d made the ransom demand.

“That’s how she knew about the abduction,” Jim muttered to himself, missing the look of confusion that crossed Joel’s face at the odd comment. “Her brother was in on it!”

With that Jim shot out of his chair, striding across the bullpen and into Simon’s office with the air of a man on a mission; a stark contrast to the worried, helpless man who had been staring at a computer screen for the last four hours.

“Simon!” he called from the doorway. “I’ve got something.”

He dashed back to his desk without waiting for the Captain, and Simon hurried out of his office to join the growing crowd of people surrounding Jim, all attracted by his sudden outburst.

Jim pointed to the blonde man on the screen, stabbing viciously at the picture. “That’s him,” he exclaimed. “James Mason, he’s the brother of Michael Vincenzi’s ex-wife. He’s the one who called me.”

“Are you sure, Jim?” Rafe asked uncertainly, edging round Jim’s desk to peer dubiously at the mug shot. “We were a long way away, and it was really dark in those woods.”

Jim nodded once, his shoulders tensing as he looked at the face of the man involved in Sandburg’s abduction. If anything had happened to Blair when they got him back, Jim knew he was looking at a dead man.

“I’m sure,” he said dismissively. “I saw him.”

A series of nods from the people around him was Jim’s only reply. In the back of his mind, Jim noted that no-one was pointing out the fact that Jim was claiming to have clearly seen a man in almost pitch-black conditions from hundreds of yards away. It was Tommy Juno all over again, but Jim had been proved right then as well. They’d all become used to Jim somehow seeing and knowing things in the past two years, and Jim had never exactly been subtle using his senses, for all that he wanted them kept a secret.

Making a note to talk to both Sandburg and Simon about that when this was all over, he dismissed it as unimportant for now and turned his attention back to the file on his screen.

“James Mason’s sister, Kathy, was married to Michael Vincenzi,” he repeated, “and since they divorced she’s been working at the Medusa Club, till we shut it down. I met her briefly while I was undercover. He’s a dealer, with convictions for selling everything from cannabis to heroine.” He scrolled quickly down the page, continuing to read aloud from the file. “He’s only been out of prison for three months, and somehow he’s got involved with his sister’s in-laws.”

Simon frowned thoughtfully. “If he’s only just got out of jail he must still be registered with a parole officer. I’ll find out where he’s working now.” He headed back to his office.

“I’ve got his home address here,” Jim finished, scribbling it down on a piece of paper before standing and reaching for his keys.

“You’re not going to barge in on him, are you?” Joel asked.

Jim shook his head, pulling on his jacket as he spoke. “No, he won’t know I’m there. I just want to look around.”

“I’m coming with you,” Joel interrupted, putting a hand on Jim’s arm to stop him from heading out of the room. “And we’re taking my car. They probably know what yours looks like.”

Jim agreed, flashing Joel a grateful smile. “Come on,” he said simply, and together the two men dashed out of the bullpen.

 

~*~*~

 

James Mason lived in a rundown part of the city, in a small road where rubbish and the discarded shells of burned-out cars littered the sidewalk. Joel pulled over to the side of the road a few doors down from Mason’s address, switching off the lights and sitting silently in the dark.

Most of the streetlights in the road had been smashed and the street itself was deserted – this was a part of the city where even the dealers didn’t like to venture after dark.

Jim glanced at the clock, shocked to realize that it was almost 5am – it would start to get light soon.

Only one or two houses still had lights on, and the night around them was oppressive and shadowed, the creepy atmosphere making Jim’s skin crawl. Even Joel, one of the most practical men that Jim knew seemed uneasy, and when he spoke his deep voice was hushed within the confines of the car.

“Now what?” he asked, looking past Jim and over at the target house, which was completely dark.

Jim cast out his hearing, hoping to hear something that would tell him whether or not Sandburg was here. Concentrating, he filtered out the sound of Joel’s breathing, the soft hum of the car engine and the constant ticking of Joel’s watch as it counted the seconds slipping past.

Even with his hearing, the distant sounds of the city seemed muted, and all he could hear outside the car was the quiet rustle of leaves disturbed by the wind, and the light rain that was now falling around them.

He listened for anything out of place, a spoken word or even a heartbeat that would at least tell him if anyone was in the house, but no-one was speaking, and even he was too far away from Mason’s house to make out something as quiet as a heartbeat.

Jim clicked his seat belt open, reaching for the door handle to his right. “I’m going to take a look around,” he told Joel. “I won’t be long – find out if Simon’s heard anything from the parole officer yet.”

Joel frowned, glancing nervously over at the shadowed house. “Are you sure you want to go over there alone?” he asked.

Jim grinned in spite of himself. “They won’t see me,” he said confidently, his mind automatically flashing back to a dozen different black ops missions where he’d learned how to get around without being seen. He glanced down at his clothes, nodding in satisfaction at the black jumper and dark pants that would blend in to the shadows.

With that he slipped quietly out of the car, moving quickly across the road before disappearing into an alley that ran down the side of the house. His shoes squelched in the mud as the rain came down, but he moved quickly down into the shadows, away from the meager streetlight that did nothing to light up the dingy alley.

In the darkest corner of the alley, where Jim knew that he was safely hidden from prying eyes, he pulled out his gun and crouched down, looking up warily at the side of Mason’s house.

There were only two windows facing the alleyway, one with frosted glass and one with curtains pulled across. Satisfied that no-one would see him, Jim again opened up his hearing, searching the dark windows for any sign of light bleeding through the curtains.

Everything was dark, and from inside the house Jim could hear the ticking of at least three different clocks, each slightly out of time with the other. But that was all he could hear – there were no voices, no creaking floorboards as people moved around, and no light coming from the windows. No heartbeats, no sound of anybody breathing, and although Jim wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear that from this distance, he was as sure as he could be that there was no-one at home.

Wherever Sandburg was being held, at least one person would be with him in case he tried anything, and Jim knew that he’d be able to hear something – some sign of a presence in the building instead of this deathly silence. 

He moved further down into the alley just to make sure, standing behind the fence and cautiously peering over in case he could see any more from the back windows, but again everything was dark.

Jim sighed, moving back out of sight before stopping to gather his thoughts. Sandburg wasn’t here, and that meant they were back to square one, and fast running out of time.

“…a timber yard in the industrial district, just off the corner of Fourth and Maine…”

Simon’s voice caught his attention, and he instinctively glanced back towards Joel’s car, half expecting to see his Captain somehow before realizing that he was hearing the man’s voice over the radio. He holstered his gun and headed quickly back to Joel, listening to the conversation as he crossed the road and climbed back into the car. Simon was still speaking.

“…he’s worked there since he got out, according to the parole board. The company’s called Alsford Timber; we’re looking into who owns it at the moment.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Joel replied, glancing over at Jim as he arrived. He opened his mouth as if to fill Jim in on what had been said, but Jim held up a hand to stop him.

“I heard,” he said, before reaching to activate the radio again. “Simon? There’s no-one at Mason’s house, the place is deserted. We’re going to go check out this timber place.”

“No,” Simon said quickly. “We’re checking into it – wait until we’ve found out who owns the company in case we need to get a warrant.”

Jim bit back his instinctive retort, knowing that Simon was right. They couldn’t tie the timber company in with the Vincenzi’s, and circumstantial evidence that linked Mason with the Vincenzi’s and Alsford Timber wasn’t strong enough for a warrant, especially since only Jim’s sentinel eyesight had identified Mason in the first place. They couldn’t take the risk of blowing the operation on a technicality, not when Sandburg’s life was at stake.

He agreed and signed off the radio, settling back in his seat with a sigh as he prepared to wait for word from Simon. More damn waiting and spending the time sitting in a cold car on a dark street was no easier than sitting in the bullpen.

The time passed slowly, both men sitting silently side by side, and the first tendrils of light were beginning to inch across the sky when suddenly a thought occurred to Jim. “Joel, do you have a map in here anywhere?” he asked, twisting in his seat to glance onto the back seat.

“Down behind my seat,” Joel replied, glancing in the back as Jim stretched down to get to the spiral bound map of Cascade. “Why?”

Straightening up, Jim quickly flicked the map open, hunting for the North Shaw Road. “Where did you say you’d narrowed the search area down to with that car?” Jim asked, and Joel leaned forward in his seat, twisting his head to one side to read the small road names on the map.

“Anywhere between Firth Street and the harbor,” Joel said. “It’s mostly guesswork, we lost the CCTV sightings a few streets back, but if they’d been heading out of Cascade it’s reasonable to assume they’d have taken the main interstate roads instead of going on the back streets.”

“Okay,” Jim said, pulling a pen from his pocket and quickly putting a ring round the search area that Joel had described. “If we assume that they snatched Sandburg, took him back to wherever they’re holding him, took the photograph and came straight back to wait for me, then there’s a limit to how far they could have gone to get back in time for us to arrive at Sandburg’s car.”

“Blair left the university about 7:30, and it would have taken him about half an hour minutes to reach the North Shaw Road,” Joel replied.

“So, say they grabbed him at eight o’clock,” Jim said slowly, running the numbers through in his head. “I got the call at 9:45, and got to the scene at about half past ten.”

“It makes sense that they’d have waited until they got back in position before calling you the first time, just in case we’d happened to have a patrol car in the area at the time. For all they know, we could have had the area sealed before you arrived and caught them on their way back.”

Jim nodded. “That’s true. So that means they would have had almost two hours to get from the North Shaw Road to their hideout and back again. If I had a kidnap victim in my car, I wouldn’t risk breaking the speed limit or doing anything to attract the attention of a patrol car. That limits how far they could have traveled to maybe thirty miles, and we know which direction they were headed in.” He glanced back down at the map again, putting a cross over the North Shaw Road and using the scale on the map to work out how far thirty miles was. He drew a rough line at the thirty mile limit, cutting Joel’s search area down by half.

“Is Alsford Timber in that search area?” Joel asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Jim grinned as he quickly searched for the corner where Fourth Street and Maine Street intersected. “Yes,” he exclaimed in triumph. “It’s right in the middle of the industrial district.”

Jim and Joel looked at each other in growing excitement. “He’s there, Joel,” Jim said, certain that he was right. “I know he is.”

Joel nodded. “I think you’re right,” he said, “but we still can’t risk going in there without some more proof, Jim, it’s all circumstantial. They’d be well within their rights to refuse to let us through the door, and then God knows what they’d do to Blair.” Jim’s face fell and he nodded silently, then glanced up in surprise as Joel started the engine and pulled out into the road. “Doesn’t mean we can’t head in that direction while we’re waiting,” he said with a smile.

They headed back out into deserted streets while Jim shared their theory with Simon over the radio, reluctantly promising to wait safely out of sight once they got near the timber company. The dawn was coming quickly now, more and more of the sky turning a dusky blue instead of the deep black of the night that had passed.

The industrial district was right across the other side of the city, and even with no traffic on the roads it took well over half an hour to get there. Jim divided the time between staring nervously out of the window, praying that his hunch would pay off, and wishing that the car would travel faster, even though he knew that once they got there, all he would be able to do was to sit and wait until Simon’s research came through.

Entering Maine Street, they drove once past the timber company, Joel keeping a steady speed while Jim took in their surroundings for any sign that they were in the right place. Alsford Timber was a big place - a dark warehouse in the center of a timber yard full of wood and metal sheeting. Just like James Mason’s house he couldn’t see any sign of activity, not even a night watchman flashing a torch round the premises, but he listened carefully, and for a brief second as they drove past thought he heard the faint sounds of music coming from somewhere inside the building.

“There’s someone in there,” he said, and Joel nodded as they passed the edge of the yard and carried on out of sight down the road.

“It could still be a security guard,” Joel cautioned, and Jim shrugged a reply.

“Maybe,” but his voice made it clear just how likely he thought that was. Then turned a corner, heading up a side street and turning again before finally pulling over safely out of sight of anyone who might venture out from the timber yard.

“Son of a bitch!” Jim suddenly exclaimed, pointing out through the windshield. Joel followed his gaze, looking out into the early morning light to see a green car parked a hundred yards down the road – with the license plate 5YCH429. 

“They’re here,” Joel said, switching off the engine as Jim grabbed for the radio. 

“Simon,” he said excitedly. “We’ve found the car Mason drove off in. It’s parked on a side street just down from Alsford Timber. We’ve found them.”

There was a brief pause before Simon answered, but Jim could hear the barely contained relief in Simon’s voice when he finally replied. “We’re on our way. Don’t do anything till I get there with backup, Jim,” he warned, and from the corner of his eyes Jim saw Joel smother a smile that was as much relief that they were finally getting somewhere as it was amusement over Simon’s warning.

“Hurry up, then,” Jim replied bluntly, anxious to get to his partner now that he was finally so close to finding him.

“Jim…” Simon warned, and Joel reached over and gently took the handset from Jim’s hand. 

“We’ll wait, Captain,” he said calmly, glancing at Jim as if daring the man to contradict him.

Jim remained silent, twisting around in his seat and looked back towards Maine Street, even though he couldn’t see the timber yard from where they had stopped, almost not daring to believe that it was nearly over.

 

~*~*~

 

An hour later dawn had completely broken, almost the entire Major Crimes Unit were gathered around Joel’s car with another officer hidden out of sight on Maine Street to give the alert in case anyone emerged from the timber yard, and Jim and Simon were in the middle of a heated argument.

“Oh, come on, Simon!” Jim exclaimed, glancing anxiously at the corner, convinced that somehow, Mason or one of his associates would head out to his car and see the police unit that was getting ready to storm the place. “If we go in all guns blazing they could kill Sandburg before we even make it through the front door.”

“Jim…”

“Just let me go in first. I can get Blair to safety before you raid the place, or at least stay with him, make sure they can’t get to him.”

Simon sighed. “Alright. Just…be careful.”

With a nod Jim checked his gun and headed quickly down the road, turning the corner cautiously before heading around the back of the industrial unit to enter the building from behind where his entrance would be more secluded.

A high, wooden fence with a padlocked gate barred his way, and Jim scaled it quietly before dropping to the ground on the other side, checking that there was no-one around before pulling his gun and activating his radio.

“I’m going inside,” he said quietly. “Will maintain radio silence until I find Sandburg.”

“Understood. Good luck, Jim.” Simon’s quiet words followed him as he shut down the link with a click, unwilling to risk a sudden burst of static giving away his position.

He moved quickly between tall piles of timber and concrete, heading for the small back door and listening carefully to make sure there was no-one in the room beyond it before carefully picking the lock, the sound of each tumbler falling into place helping to calm him.

For all his confident words to Simon, Jim knew damn well that Sandburg had been a prisoner for almost ten hours now, and there was no guarantee that they’d even have kept him alive. Once the initial photograph had been taken and the threat established, the Vincenzi’s didn’t actually need a living hostage.

For all that Jim secretly applauded Sandburg’s creativity and his ability to talk his way out of crazy situations, the Vincenzi’s were no group to mess with, and as he eased the door open and slipped carefully inside, Jim was praying that this time Blair had kept his head and kept quiet. 

The door opened out into a narrow corridor with more doors leading off into other rooms in the building. From what little he could tell the building was a maze of storage rooms and workshops, and his heart fell as he realized that Blair could be in any one of them. It could take him a long time to search all the rooms, not to mention that the longer he took, the more chance there was that Simon and the others would be spotted, or that someone would realize he was sneaking around the building.

Jim stopped at the first door, listening closely for a few seconds before moving on, away from the empty room. The second door stood open, the room beyond dark and silent, but before Jim could move in again he heard footsteps approaching from the other end of the corridor, out of sight around the corner, and he stepped hurriedly into the darkened room, raising his gun and concealing himself behind the door. He badly wanted to take these bastards down for what they’d done, but anything he did now would put Blair at risk, and Jim’s need to get to his partner still outweighed his desire for vengeance. 

On the other hand, if they’d hurt him…

The footsteps continued past his hiding place, and Jim allowed himself a soft sigh of relief as he waited for them to fade completely before emerging.

The next door was slightly ajar, not far enough for him to see in but he could hear the sounds of a muted television playing. Focusing his hearing, Jim could make out three different heartbeats coming from the other side of the door, and carried on without waiting any longer. It was still possible that Sandburg was being guarded, but Jim somehow doubted it, and he had no intention of announcing his presence to the men in that room if he could help it.

There was one more door before he reached the corner; it was also shut, and Jim could make out a single heartbeat coming from behind it. The rhythm was slow and steady, but Jim couldn’t hear anything else inside – no radio or television, not even the quiet rustling of papers to suggest that whoever was on the other side might be reading or working on something.

He tried the door, the handle turning silently in his hand but when he put his weight behind it the door refused to budge, and Jim smiled. Who else would they put in a locked room, with the key on the outside, but Sandburg?

He turned the key, a quiet snick as the lock released the only audible sound Jim had made since entering the building.

He opened the door only as far as he needed to ease inside, confirming that there was no-one else in the room and sliding the door shut behind him, taking the key with him before finally allowing himself to turn to the filthy figure huddled on the dusty floor on the other side of the room.

Sandburg.

Blair looked almost exactly the way he had in the photograph – lying on his side, still bound and gagged, his clothes torn and dried blood smeared on his forehead, streaks of it disappearing beneath the blindfold.

As Jim quickly crossed the room and knelt down next to his partner, he realized exactly what the grain on the photograph had really been – a thick layer of sawdust.

The sound of his heartbeat was already reassuring him that Blair was still alive, but Jim pressed two fingers against Blair’s neck anyway, needing to feel the pulse beating beneath his skin.

The extreme reaction startled him as his partner jumped, shrinking away from him against the wall and curling up as if to make himself invisible. He was speaking, too, but the words were jumbled together and muffled by the gag. Even with his enhanced hearing, Jim couldn’t work out what Blair was saying, but the fear behind the words was clear, and a surge of anger flooded through him.

Quickly, Jim placed his hand gently on Blair’s shoulder, leaning in close to his ear before whispering. “Easy, Blair. It’s me. It’s Jim.”

The shoulder stilled beneath him as Blair froze, and Jim heard the slight hitch in Sandburg’s breathing, his entire body tensing up.

Jim squeezed his partner’s shoulder gently, mindful of any bruising that might be present and sighed in relief when he felt Blair relax, a shaken sigh audible in spite of the gag.

Extending his hearing so that he’d hear anyone approaching, Jim risked laying the gun down on the ground by his side so that he’d have both hands free. The room wasn’t brightly lit; the only light coming from a small, grimy, dirt encrusted window set high in the far wall, but after having been blindfolded all night Jim knew that even that much light would be painful.

Warning Blair to keep his eyes closed so that they’d have time to adjust, Jim carefully undid the blindfold that covered his friend’s eyes, trying not to tear out the strands of hair that had become tangled up in the rough fabric.

Jim frowned as he felt Blair’s shoulders begin to shake, breathing becoming uneven as Blair struggled to control his emotions. Anger flowed through Jim at what had been done to his friend, mixing with concern as he took in the swollen, blackened eye that had been hidden beneath the blindfold. 

“It’s alright, Blair,” he whispered quietly, mustering up a smile as he removed the gag as well, mentally adding a split lip to the growing catalogue of injuries as Blair coughed weakly, grimacing.

Blair opened his eyes for a second before wincing and squeezing them shut, turning his head slightly to one side in a vain attempt to shield himself from the light.

He rolled fully onto his back before cracking his eyes open again, and Jim reached for his gun as Blair stared up at him, his vision slowly coming back into focus. At the look of sheer relief on Blair’s face, Jim couldn’t completely suppress his own smile.

“Jim…” Blair began, his voice hoarse and too loud, making Jim wince and hold a finger to his lips, leaning down to whisper in Sandburg’s ear.

“Shh! We’re not quite out of the woods yet.”

Already he could hear people moving around in the rooms near them, and knew that it was only a matter of time before someone came in to check on their hostage.

A look of vacant confusion flashed across Blair’s face at Jim’s words, and Jim frowned as he watched Blair blink almost in slow motion, before muttering something that Jim didn’t understand.

Concern flared that Blair might be more badly hurt than he’d first thought as Jim realized how sluggish Sandburg’s behavior was. He placed his gun hand gently on his partner’s chest, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat as he reached out with the other hand, lightly brushing the bruise on Blair’s jaw as he turned his head slightly to get a better look in the man’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” he whispered quietly. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay…” Blair muttered after a moment, but even those two words sounded slurred to the sentinel’s ears, and he didn’t miss the way his head dropped back to the floor as his eyes began to drift shut.

Biting back a curse, Jim reached for his earpiece, switching on his radio and activating the link between him and Simon. There was no way he and Sandburg were going to be able to sneak out of here – at the moment, Jim had his doubts that Blair would even be able to stand without help. As he spoke, Jim’s mind began conjuring up nightmare scenarios of head injuries and subdural haematoma’s, praying that whatever was wrong was nothing like that serious.

“Simon,” he hissed. “I’ve found him. We’re in one of the storerooms at the back of the building but there’s something wrong. Get an ambulance standing by and ready to move in.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Simon barked, concern obvious in the deep voice.

“I don’t know,” Jim admitted. “He’s not really with me.” Jim turned back to his friend, taking in the unfocussed gaze, and the bruises across his face. Jim dearly wanted to untie Blair, but he could hear the sounds of activity increasing in the building and no longer wanted to take the risk of putting his gun down again, even for a moment.

Jim’s gaze traveled down Sandburg’s face, mentally noting every bruise, then took in the torn jacket and the way his arm’s were pulled behind him by the ropes – then swore as he noticed how one of his sleeves was bunched up in the crook of his elbow, a needle mark visible just below the crumpled material.

“Damn. There’s a puncture mark on his arm – they’ve drugged him. Hold on.”

He leaned down over his partner, shaking him gently until Blair opened his eyes and looked at him. “Sandburg, do you know what they gave you?”

Blair just groaned in response, giving no sign that he’d understood the question as his eyes drifted shut again.

“Simon, he’s barely conscious, there’s no way I can move him. You’ll have to move in without me – I’m not leaving him.”

For a second, Jim thought that his boss was going to protest, but after a moment’s silence Simon agreed. “Alright Jim, just keep your head down and take care of the kid. I’ll warn you when we’re in position.”

Silence settled over the dusty room then, and as he kept a vigil over his friend, Jim found himself tuning into Sandburg’s deep, even breathing, allowing it to gradually calm him. The long night of searching had taken its toll on the detective, and even though neither man was exactly safe yet, just the knowledge that anyone who wanted to further hurt Blair would now have to go through him first was enough to ease his fears until he could get Blair to a hospital.

Jim was just praying that whatever they’d injected Blair with was simply a sedative designed to keep him compliant, and not anything with more serious side effects.

For a moment, Jim toyed with the idea of locking the storeroom door, of shutting them both inside until Simon and the rest of the police had rounded up Vincenzi’s men, but before he could do so he heard Simon’s voice over the ear piece.

“Get ready, Jim.”

That was all the warning he had to dial down his hearing before a hail of shouts and gunfire penetrated the early morning silence. Kneeling on the floor of the storeroom, Jim could only listen as chaos reigned around them. Blair jerked violently awake when the gunfire began, and Jim put a hand on his chest to prevent any attempts to rise. 

“Relax, chief,” he said, unable to stop the tension from seeping into his voice as he listened to the shouts and cries of pain echoing from around the building.

He hated this. For all his long years of experience Jim would never fully get used to gunfire, and nor did he want to; needing the burst of adrenaline that the sound always triggered to sharpen his reactions and help keep him alive.

This was no different – the adrenaline was flowing, and was obviously flowing in Sandburg as well as since he suddenly seemed wide awake, wild-eyed and jumping at the sound of every bullet.

Part of Jim needed to be out there with Simon, actively doing something to bring down the kidnappers and doing what he could to make sure that none of his friends and colleagues were hurt, but he also knew that it was highly likely that someone would try to get to Blair, intending to use him as a shield against the police, and there was no way he would ever let that happen.

Then he heard the footsteps. Not that they were the only ones, people were running all over the building as the fight raged, but there was only one set of footsteps heading directly towards their location.

Jim tightened his grip on the gun, twisting slightly towards the door as he waited. The wooden door slammed back on its hinges, the noise echoing into the room and causing Jim to wince. 

He went to shout a warning to the man who had rushed into the room, but before he could speak Jim saw that this was not a cop, even as the gun in the stranger’s hand began to rise.

The police officer in Jim wanted to shout the warning anyway, to give the man a chance to surrender, but Jim had been a soldier far longer than a cop, and the soldier in him knew that if he wanted to protect Sandburg, and himself, he didn’t have that luxury.

Jim fired and the man dropped instantly, crashing to the floor still holding his gun, and Jim kept his gun trained on the body, listening intently as the heartbeat slowed and finally stopped.

They waited in silence as the gunfire slowly eased, until finally there was quiet, and Jim’s ear piece was filled with people shouting all clear as the building was secured and the surviving gunmen arrested.

Confident now that the danger was over, Jim holstered his gun and turned his full attention on his partner, pleased to see that Blair was awake and watching him. Jim looked closely into his eyes, noting that his pupils were dilated from whatever he’d been drugged with, but were at least equal and size and reacting to the dim light. Jim’s fears of a serious head injury began to recede, and he smiled down at Sandburg in unabashed relief.

“Sandburg? You with me?”

Blair nodded, closing his eyes as Jim eased him as gently as he could onto his side to get to the ropes around his wrists.

Jim’s eyes narrowed as he began to work on the knots, taking in the streaks of blood on his partner’s hands and arms where he’d apparently fought with the ropes. His wrists were a mess, swollen with deep grazes where the bonds had dug into his skin and Jim gently eased the rope away, muttering an apology when Blair hissed in pain. When his hands were free, Jim threw the bloodied twine as far away from them as he could, gently turning Blair onto his back.

“How are your ribs? Anything broken?”

“No,” Blair replied as Jim laid a hand on his chest to check his ribs for himself. Blair pushed against Jim’s hand as he tried to sit up and Jim moved, placing one hand on Blair’s back to support him as he leaned back against the wall.

“Nice and slow, okay?” Jim muttered, waiting to make sure that Sandburg was settled before turning his attention to the ropes around his ankles.

“Yeah,” Sandburg whispered to himself, and once his ankles were freed he reached out to Jim. Jim didn’t miss the fact that it took two tries before Sandburg managed to touch Jim’s arm, and that, as well as the now slowing heartbeat, told him that his friend was still fighting the effects of the sedative now that the unexpected burst of adrenaline was fading.

Jim took Blair’s hand, squeezing it briefly before placing it back at his side, not able to mask his smile in spite of his lingering concern over Sandburg’s injuries. At the very least his wrists would need treating to prevent infection, and a tox screen to identify the sedative in his bloodstream wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

“Thanks, man,” Blair whispered.

The slightest trace of stale cigar was all the warning Jim had before a whirlwind swept into the room, in the form of Simon and Joel Taggert.

“Sandburg!” Jim looked up at the outburst, seeing the look of real concern that flashed across the Captain’s face as he took in Blair’s battered face and weary expression.

“Hey, Simon,” Blair said quietly, his voice sounding hoarse even as coughs wracked his shivering frame. “You guys have any water?”

The hopeful edge to Blair’s voice almost made Jim give in, but his medic training insisted that Blair be examined first, in case there were injuries that he hadn’t yet discovered. A lot could have happened in the long hours Blair had been a hostage, things that might not be immediately apparent.

“Lets get you checked out first, chief,” he said quietly, and Blair swung a disappointed gaze his way before nodding, shifting as he tried to get to his feet. Jim put a hand out to stop him.

“I think you should wait, Sandburg, let us get the EMT’s in here,” he began, but Blair ignored him, batting his hand away even though his aim was off and his hands were shaking.

“I need to get out of here, Jim,” he muttered quietly, and Jim exchanged a worried glance with Simon before shifting his grip and supporting his friend as he tried to stand, his movements uncoordinated and shaky.

“Alright,” he said, and somehow Blair made it to his feet, but Jim could feel the tremors in the ice-cold body. Blair hadn’t been upright for more than a few seconds before Jim felt more than saw Blair’s knees buckle, and he ducked under his arm, pulling it over his shoulder and motioning for Simon to do the same.

“Woah,” Blair muttered, gazing up at Jim with eyes that were now unfocussed and watering. “They…gave me something,” he added, words slurring together and the confused look on Simon’s face told Jim that he was the only one who could understand him. “It’s made the room spin,” he continued, twisting suddenly and forcing Jim to tighten his grip just to keep Blair upright. “Is it morning yet?” he asked incongruously and Jim immediately motioned to Simon to help him ease Blair back to the floor, well aware from the man’s slurred words, dulled heartbeat and seemingly boneless body that he was only a few seconds from passing out again.

Between them they managed to get Blair safely back to the ground, Jim kneeling behind his friend and pulling Blair close to his chest. “Get the EMT’s in here,” he said quietly to Simon before turning his attention back to Blair, whose eyes were only half open, all his weight now resting on Jim’s arms as Simon moved away.

“Jim?”

“Yeah, chief?”

“You…here when…wake up?”

“Sure,” Jim replied quietly, speaking slowly so that Sandburg could understand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s good to be home, man,” Sandburg whispered almost silently, before he sighed and his eyes closed completely. Joel had left the storeroom to help with the clean-up operation, and it wasn’t long before Simon finished speaking quietly into his radio and came back to kneel by their side.

“How’s he doing?” he asked softly, frowning as he took in Blair’s split lip and bloody wrists.

“He’s been drifting in and out since I found him,” Jim replied, not taking his eyes off his partner. “I don’t know what they sedated him with, we need to get him checked out. Where are the paramedics?”

As if on cue, they appeared in the doorway carrying a stretcher between them. They placed the stretcher on the ground before one of the EMT’s checked on the body lying sprawled by the door, the other moving straight over to where Blair was lying in Jim’s arms.

Jim gave them what little information he had before easing out from under his friend, holding Sandburg’s head carefully as he settled him on the floor. He moved away to let the paramedics work, but his eyes didn’t stray from the still form of his partner.

When Blair moaned in response to having lights shone in his eyes, it took more self-control than Jim knew he had not to go back to his partner’s side and yell at the paramedics to be more careful.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled Jim, and he turned in surprise to find Simon watching him with concern.

“Are you okay?” Simon asked, glancing over at the dead body sprawled in the doorway.

Jim tensed instinctively as he nodded, realizing that Simon had been able to hear every word he said over the radio – he must know that Jim had fired his weapon without shouting a warning. He braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming, and perhaps even the suspension that was mandatory before an IA investigation into an unrighteous shoot, but Simon simply looked at him for a long moment before pulling out a cigar from his coat pocket.

“Nice shot,” he said softly before lighting his cigar. “Keep me informed about Sandburg’s condition,” he added, before walking away to surprise the rest of the clean up.

Jim grinned, well aware that Simon had just given him tacit permission to stay with Blair even though he should, by rights, have been assisting in securing the scene.

Jim turned back to his partner, kneeling back down at his side, making sure to stay well out of the paramedics way. They already had Blair strapped to the gurney, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. To Jim’s surprise Blair was conscious again, though just barely, eyelids drooping as he struggled to stay awake.

“How is he?”

The paramedic, a young man with cropped blond hair whom Jim had never seen before, answered Jim without glancing up from where he was bandaging Blair’s torn wrists.

“I don’t think it’s too serious,” he began. “The wounds on his wrists should heal, though he might need antibiotics to help prevent infection. What concerns me most is his cognitive state. If he was sedated as you say, then it’s to be expected, but we won’t know for sure until we get a tox screen done.”

“He told me they’d injected him with something.”

The medic nodded. “Then he’s probably fine. His pupils are equal and reactive so he may just need to rest while the drugs work through his system. My only concerns are the wounds on the back of his head and around his face. We can’t properly assess the severity of any head injury when he’s still being affected by the drugs, but I don’t think there’s anything that serious. We’ll transport him to Cascade General, though, just to be on the safe side.”

At the news of a possible head injury Jim stiffened, glancing immediately at the bruises around Sandburg’s eyes. Sandburg was watching him, eyelids slowly closing as he lost the battle against the sedatives. As soon as the paramedics had finished Jim stepped in and took Blair’s hand in his, pleased when he immediately tightened his grip.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital, chief,” he said, and after a moment Blair nodded, squeezing his hand again once before closing his eyes and relaxing against the gurney as the paramedics covered him in a blanket to help combat the shivers coursing through his body.

Jim followed the stretcher as they wheeled him through the building and out into the yard. The clean up was almost finished by the looks of things, with squad cars full of scowling men waiting to be ferried down to the precinct. As Jim stepped out into the cordoned off street, he looked around for Simon to find him and Rafe escorting the final prisoner – James Mason.

Jim’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the man who had so casually threatened Sandburg’s life, and as if he could sense the gaze, Mason suddenly looked up, catching Jim’s gaze, taking in the still form on the stretcher, and smirked.

In that instant all of Jim’s rage, the anger and fear that he’d been battling since receiving that first phone call boiled over, crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He headed for Mason, covering well over half the distance before Simon registered his presence and stiffened, stepping partially in front of the cuffed man as if to stand in Jim’s way.

Jim didn’t stop, and had the satisfaction of seeing Mason’s eyes widen in alarm, the man shrinking back as he recognized the fury in the detective’s expression.

“Jim…” Simon warned, but it wasn’t that which finally stopped Ellison’s furious charge. Instead it was the soft voice of the paramedic.

“Detective Ellison,” the man called, the subtle glance from Jim to Simon before he continued telling Jim that he hadn’t missed any of what was going on outside the ambulance. “We’re ready to transport. Are you riding with us?”

Jim turned back, dismissing Mason without another thought, striding quickly to the ambulance and climbing in before they closed the doors.

As they switched the siren on and pulled away from the crime scene, Jim watched the kidnapper through the window of the vehicle as Simon loaded into the back of a squad car, promising himself that, sooner or later, Mason would pay for what he’d done.


End file.
